| |
| AMIDST the azure clear | |
| Of Jordan’s sacred streams, | |
| Jordan, of Libanon the offspring dear, | |
| When zephyr’s flowers unclose, | |
| And sun shines with new beams, | 5 |
| With grave and stately grace a nymph arose. | |
| |
| Upon her head she ware | |
| Of amaranths a crown, | |
| Her left hand palms, her right a brandon bare; | |
| Unveiled skin’s whiteness lay, | 10 |
| Gold hairs in curls hung down, | |
| Eyes sparkled joy, more bright than star of day. | |
| |
| The flood a throne her reared | |
| Of waves, most like that heaven | |
| Where beaming stars in glory turn ensphered; | 15 |
| The air stood calm and clear, | |
| No sigh by winds was given, | |
| Birds left to sing, herds feed, her voice to hear. | |
| |
| World-wandering sorry wights, | |
| Whom nothing can content | 20 |
| Within those varying lists of days and nights, | |
| Whose life, e’er known amiss, | |
| In glittering griefs is spent, | |
| Come learn, said she, what is your choicest bliss; | |
| |
| From toil and pressing cares | 25 |
| How ye may respite find, | |
| A sanctuary from soul-thralling snares, | |
| A port to harbor sure | |
| In spite of waves and wind, | |
| Which shall, when Time’s hour-glass is run, endure. | 30 |
| |
| Not happy is that life | |
| Which ye as happy hold, | |
| No, but a sea of fears, a field of strife, | |
| Charged on a throne to sit | |
| With diadems of gold, | 35 |
| Preserved by force, and still observed by wit; | |
| |
| Huge treasures to enjoy, | |
| Of all her gems spoil Ind, | |
| All Seres’ silk, in garments to employ, | |
| Deliciously to feed, | 40 |
| The Phœnix’ plumes to find | |
| To rest upon, or deck your purple bed. * * * * * | |
| No, but blest life is this, | |
| With chaste and pure desire, | |
| To turn unto the loadstar of all bliss, | 45 |
| On God the mind to rest, | |
| Burnt up with sacred fire, | |
| Possessing him, to be by him possest. * * * * * | |
| Swift is your mortal race, | |
| And glassy is the field; | 50 |
| Vast are desires not limited by grace; | |
| Life a weak taper is; | |
| Then, while it light doth yield, | |
| Leave flying joys, embrace this lasting bliss. | |
| |
| This when the nymph had said, | 55 |
| She dived within the flood, | |
| Whose face with smiling curls long after staid; | |
| Then sighs did zephyrs press, | |
| Birds sang from every wood, | |
| And echoes rang, This was true happiness! | 60 |
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